I forgot how absolutely sublime it is to move and stay still at the same time. It's amazing, a true monument to people's ingenuity to the grand pursuit of idleness. To be sitting down, immobile, completely still, and nevertheless be traveling is an absolute marvel. Whatever genius came up with that outlandish concept deserved to live the rest of their life being carted around for that simple thought.
But alas, that magical time is now over, and I am standing still and staying still, the sensations matching together as I stand outside the cart with the other denizens as it shifts and writhes. Shadow things with no real form, small really, not even coming up to my knee. One of them seems to have taken a shine to my shield, perched atop it and calmy leaning against my head. Doesn't weigh a thing either. It can stay there until I decide it can't anymore.
Some forgotten town that may not have a name, loggers mostly, from the look of the people come to gawk. Bearded broad men carrying their work in their shoulders, their eyes. Yet I can't help but notice the lightness in their steps. Heard rumors that log drivers are good dancers, and from what I can tell, that might be true. Still, they eye me like I might be something to take. I don't mind, not really. So long as they stay over there like good little boys and don't bother the work. They're going to be paying so they better not trash the place beforehand. I can't clean the perfume and the floral cloy from my noise.
The mistress is nowhere to be found, closeted away in her home. The noises don't paint a good picture. Saws and nails and all sorts of the wrong type of banging. Amaru doesn't seem to mind, so I don't either. I do mind the gathering crowd though. It is my job to make sure that they stand over there and don't come any closer. So far, everything seems calm and collected and over there. The shadow thing shifts and moves to my head, sitting like a toddler. I sigh and let it happen. It's fine. Still doesn't weigh any more than an idle thought.
"Does he have a name," some smart ass in the crowd ventures. I glare in the general direction of the voice. There are no further remarks from the gathered men. Mostly men. Some women poke through, attached at the hip of something a little more rugged than they pretend to be. I don't bother to pick out faces. The voice had a horn attached to it and it came from behind me.
"No seriously," says Annette, "I think he should."
She sidles next to me, strolling once more like nothing in the world could be better. She's in a new dress now, the last one left in a crumpled heap somewhere forgotten. Low cut, and she hums with my blatant ogling, puffing out her chest in some vain attempt to get me to look more, when I'm already diving headfirst into her cleavage.
"So then, what do you think we should name him?" I say.
She stretches and thinks to herself, strutting and posing and showing off the dress and the way it hugs her figure. It dances against her skin, giving the impression of her hips but never staying with it for too long. Shame, such a shame that she is not naked and kneeling and panting before me.
"Eddy," she says, "I say he should be Eddy."
"Any reason?"
"None whatsoever. He just kind of looks like an Eddy."
I shrug. Eddy doesn't seem to mind being christened at least. He stays on my head as the crowd shifts and waits for something amazing to happen, in contemplative silence. The carriage continues to rock and knock and shake and rattle and roll as whatever preparations continue.
"Are you going tonight?" Annette asks.
"Wasn't planning on it. Not exactly interested in watching."
"Oh, come on. It'll be fun. It's nice to watch. I've watched you before and I have to say that was beautiful. At least come for me. I'm leading the band. Never worked with full instrumentation before. Once worked as a duet with a guy who had a flute. Don't work with people who play the flute by the way. It makes them... off."
She looks at me again and presses her breasts onto my arm. They make a wonderful argument. They make a very concise and logical point that I will get to touch them afterwards and maybe kiss them if I behave. Although I am pretty sure that would happen regardless. Then again, I'll get to see more of the dress and the low cut and the hips and the legs. And I would have a very close seat to the stage, and thus the orchestra.
"Alright."
Annette beams at me and her teeth gleam in the sunlight. Eddy shifts and makes an odd noise. Squeak, maybe, or a purr. Not quite sure how to classify it, but he settles back to stillness and I am left to my duty.
The crowd keeps watch. The carriage shudders and dies and finally settles into stillness. The horses are seen too, and I have left to do is wait for the doors to open. The little shadow things do most of the work for the venue, laying the lanterns and the tables outside as more and more of it spills outside. By the time the sun decides that it would be a good time to start slacking off, the lanterns are lit, and the tables are set, and all is right with the world. The invisible wave wafts through the air and the thoughts start once more. I miss Annette and her skin and her body and it being naked and serving me. But it is not to be. I would prefer it, but it can wait. She's just playing music and by the time morning comes round, she'll have a full night in there, breathing the fumes and that would certainly do a number on anything that so much as knows what a desire is. I shrug and roll my shoulders as the shadow thing on my head pokes me and points to go away. It is his time to work, and I am in the way. Far be it from me to keep a man from his work. I look away for a moment and when I look back, there is a small booth before the entrance. There Eddy sits, watching the crowd with placid attention before the gates open.
---
The inside has transformed completely. A cabin manor made theater, plush with curtains and red and overflowing floral vases. That same scent of the tea drifts through the air with utter abandon. I shudder and step forward. Not good. Not good, but great and a wonderfully bitter tingle in my skin with each step. More shadow things dart and dance, more alive than they've ever been in the sunlight. Dark things enjoy dark spaces. One sneaks in front of me and stops my steps. I am tired of small things telling me where to go, but not so tired as to stop obeying.
It leads me past the grand entrance way, through a door that almost does not look like a door. I think this one is a she. And then it becomes as such. Still without a name. Still without a personality other than bland obedience to a master that is not me. The halls are tight, tighter than I find comfort in. Squeezing, crushing, suffocating me in that same cloying perfume that tries and fails to invoke a soft meadow to lay one's head down in. It smells too made, too manufactured, and measured to be comforting and safe. She leads me to another door that is almost not a door, more of a bit of wall that decides to swing open every so often, and knocks. Surprising strength coming from something so small and weightless.
"It's open," Amaru says. I bristle and want to leave, but that would be impolite. He had sought me out and the little shadow thing politely creaks the hinges hidden in the wall and steps aside before letting me in.
A small parlor greets meet, a massive mirror showing my face to me for the first time in a good long while. I almost laugh. I do not remember my face being that sullen, that fierce, that sharp and glowering. But it is there, and blue eyes look back into me and recognize it as me before moving on to my host. He sits at a small table, applying some soft powder to his skin, makeup and paint scattered at reach. Dark black lines circle his eyes, sharpening his gaze into dagger points and I freeze. He is still shirtless and the ink on his skin swirls and dances. I notice the looping lines above his crotch, marking him and staining him and snatching my attention. The fierce predator smiles and the ears drop, and he stands.
He's taller than me. Not surprising given his natures, but it's not often I have to look up to someone. Even the bastard is shorter than me, although I think the ears tip it in his favor. I definitely look down on him, though. It's the smile, the lips, that does me in, and the odd color he plants on them. Pure snow white, clear and undriven, almost blinding. And the teeth, the wonderful bright shiny teeth that I can't look away from. I need to know how they do that, if only to satiate my curiosity. There has to be a good method that I am not aware of, something that works better than my routine.
"Hey," he says and shuffles in his seat like a nervous kid sent to his mother.
"Hi." He gets a response. I know him well enough for that.
"What do you think," he says as he gestures to his face.
"Good work."
"Thank you. I can never quite tell if I do a good job with it. Dantea always says it's fine, but y'know, she's probably just saying that. Are you just saying that?"
"No, I'm not. Never took you for something this theatrical."
He sighs and shifts back. I get to see the muscles on his shoulders ripple and flex in the mirror. I should keep him here and never let him leave. Lock the door and turn down the lights and ride him till our bones turn to powder. I do not shift my thighs together to alleviate some rather uncomfortable sensations. That would give it all away. I set my face to stone and think of nothing at all. Certainly not the tightness in his leggings that outline a wonderful shape that snakes down to his knee.
